'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring…

Buffy woke suddenly, senses on high alert. Something was stirring…

No way that's a mouse...

She slipped out of bed and crept quietly to down the stairs. If that was Dawn trying to get a sneak peek at her presents, she was in big trouble. She peered into the sitting room, where the Christmas tree twinkled with silver stars and tiny silver lights; silver lights that were currently illuminating a strangely familiar leather-draped backside poking out from under the lower branches of the tree. The owner of said backside was on his hands and knees apparently rummaging through the pile of gifts clustered around the tree. Buffy rolled her eyes and turned on the lights. There was a sudden curse and rattle of baubles as the tree swayed dangerously, dislodging the angel which ended up inelegantly wedged upside down on a lower branch, knickers in the air.

Spike disentangled himself from the tinsel that had wrapped itself around his neck during his precipitated withdrawal from beneath the tree and glared at Buffy. "Bloody hell, slayer! Little bit of warning wouldn't go amiss!"

Buffy folded her arms and glared back. "Oh, well, this is low down and despicable, even for you."

"What?" Spike pulled a recalcitrant piece of tinsel from his collar.

"Stealing Christmas presents? What are you, the Antisanta?"

"Well, that's just bloody typical! Jump straight in; don't even stop to think maybe, just maybe, your stupid slayerness might have got hold of the wrong end of the stick! What makes you think I'm not here on some sort of legitimate business?"

"Don't tell me. Santa's outta elves and had to resort to short vampires."

"Hey! The words 'kettle' and 'pot' come to mind."

"I'm so not short." Buffy drew herself up to her full height and tried to look more imposing – which given she was wearing her somewhat worn-but-comfy yummy sushi pyjamas and had bed-mussed hair was not an easy task.

Spike certainly didn't seem impressed. "I've met taller pigmies." He looked her up and down slowly. "You look nice," he leered.

"I…? Oh…shut up!" To her annoyance, Buffy found herself trying to run her fingers through her disordered locks in a vain attempt to smooth them, while wishing she'd worn a sexy black negligee that night – not that she actually owned a sexy black negligee, or any coloured negligee come to that. She dropped her hands with an annoyed growl and went back onto the attack. "OK, so do tell. Why exactly are you skulking under my tree?"

"Well, I…" Spike paused uncomfortably, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and frowned. "OK, you're right. Big bad here. What else would I be doin'? Nicking presents, yeah. Got me bang to rights, pet. I'll just put these back…" He surreptitiously slid a couple of packages into the pile under the tree. "Right, I'll be off. See if I can't find me a nice reindeer to chew on…" he shrugged his duster straight, raised a hand and made for the door. "Merry whatever…"

"Hey! Wait a minute…" Buffy was examining the pile of parcels. "Those aren't ours! We're all co-ordinated with the silver and blue theme this year." Spike winced. "Those are red and gold." She peered at him suspiciously. "Explain."

"Explain what? Just because a couple of unexpected presents appear under the tree that's my fault? Hey – maybe there is a Santa after all!"

"Spike…"

"What ever is going on here?" Joyce stood in the doorway, hugging her blue bathrobe close around her.

"Mom!" Buffy turned to hiss at Spike. "Now look! You woke mom!"

"Spike? Is that you?"

"Umm… yeah. Hi, Joyce." Spike gave a quick, embarrassed wave.

"What are you doing here?" Joyce came into the room, slapping away Buffy's hands as she made unnecessary attempts to support her.

"Oh, you know. Just passin'…" Spike mumbled, looking at his boots. "How you doin'?" He glanced up quickly. "You're lookin' good."

Joyce laughed. "Well, hardly, but you know, given the circumstances I think I scrub up pretty well. Once the hair grows back properly I'll feel a lot better." Joyce ignored Buffy's frustrated sigh and crossed the room to stand by Spike. "I never thanked you for the flowers…"

Buffy's face was a picture of disbelief. "Spike brought you flowers?"

"When I came out of hospital. I caught him at the door or I'd never have known they were from him." She smiled at a very uncomfortable looking Spike. "They were beautiful and it was very sweet of you."

Spike looked at his feet again. "Yeah, well… S'OK. Glad you… you know…" he muttered.

"Spike brought you flowers?" Buffy was still apparently having trouble getting her head around that one. "They were lilies maybe? Or sorta wreath-shaped?"

Joyce gave her an exasperated look and turned back to Spike. "But it's very late. Whatever…?"

"Turns out he has a new job as one of Santa's little helpers this year." Buffy folded her arms and glared at Spike. "Doesn't he make the cutest little elf?"

Joyce glanced over at the tree as Spike and Buffy engaged in a glare-match. "You brought us presents? Oh… well… that's …"

Buffy wasn't sure she'd ever seen Spike look so uncomfortable. He gave a non-committal grunt and began to edge toward the door. "Well, gotta be goin'…"

"Oh! Stay a while!" Joyce smiled at him encouragingly. "I mean, now we're all up…"

"Well…" Spike hesitated. To Buffy's dismay he looked half tempted.

"He has to go." She grasped Spike firmly by the arm and began to drag him relentlessly toward the door. "Places to go, people to annoy, evil to do..."

"Yeah, right," Spike dragged his heels. "Thanks an' all, but I guess…"

"I have eggnog…" Joyce smiled winningly.

"Mom!" Buffy growled as Spike pulled her to a halt.

He caught the warning look Buffy gave him, hesitated and then grinned. "You, know, Joyce, I'm kind of fond of eggnog." He held Buffy's glare and raised a challenging eyebrow. "I think I will stay after all." Buffy's growl of frustration was met by a tongue-against-teeth leer. "Thanks."

"Oh, good!" Joyce smiled. "Take a seat. Make yourself at home." She turned to Buffy. "You, young lady, can give me a hand. I need a word with you."

Spike sat down on the sofa and grinned triumphantly at Buffy.

Buffy glowered. "Sit there. Don't move. And don't touch anything." With a final warning glare, she followed her mom into the kitchen.

"What are you doing? Like suddenly we're all eggnog buddies?"

"Well… I feel sorry for him." Joyce bustled around the kitchen, setting out plates and glasses.

"Sorry? For Spike?"

"It's just," she took a carton of eggnog out of the refrigerator. "Well, it's the season of goodwill to all men…"

"Spike's not a man. Spike's a… a thing."

"Oh, Buffy, really!" Joyce frowned as she poured the creamy yellow liquid. "I hoped to have brought you up with better manners."

"Well, he is mom! Are we forgetting the whole evil undead vampire issue in our cosy, carey-sharey yuletide happiness?"

"They took out my tumour, not my memory. Of course I remember! But…" she put down the carton and turned to Buffy. "I can only go on what I see and what I see is really not so bad. Spike can be… sweet."

"Sweet?!" Buffy stared at her in disbelief. "I can think of an awful lot of words to describe him – irritating, annoying, exasperating, infuriating, difficult… but sweet? And recently I can't seem to turn around without him being there... lurking…"

"That's kind of sweet, too, if you think about it." Joyce paused to give than one some thought. "He clearly wants to be your friend." She went on, nodding in satisfaction.

"It… I… Friend? This is cleary some sort of weird definition of 'friend' I've never come across!"

"Well, he's a vampire. They probably do things differently." As Buffy spluttered in disbelief, Joyce placed the filled glasses on a tray and added a plate of star-shaped cinnamon biscuits. "Now, stop that and take the tray through." She gave Buffy a severe look. "And behave. Spike is a guest in our house. Nothing wrong with a bit of festive spirit."

"I could stake him. Then he'd be a real festive spirit."

"Buffy!"

"Alright, alright…" Muttering in annoyance, Buffy trailed her mother back into the lounge.

Spike was sitting comfortably on the sofa– and he wasn't alone.

Buffy raised her eyes heavenwards. "Oh, great."

Dawn was sitting curled up next to Spike, clutching a red and gold parcel and smiling up at him winningly. "Oh, please?" she wheedled, "Can I open it? Can I?"

"Well…"

"It's past midnight…"

"'S up to your mum."

Dawn looked up at her mother and grinned. "Look mom! There's one for you too!"

"Oh, Spike! You shouldn't have!" Joyce took her parcel with a grateful smile.

"No, Spike, you really shouldn't have." Buffy growled.

"There's none for you." Dawn smiled smugly at her sister.

Despite herself, Buffy felt a disappointed pout set in.

"Didn't think she'd want one." Spike turned to look at Buffy uncertainly. "Do you want one?"

"Do I…?" Buffy rearranged the pout into a scowl. "From you? No."

"Well, it's a good job I didn't buy you one, then."

"Buy? Oh, like I believe that!"

"Wh…?" Spike glowered. "Do you really think I'd give your mum and the Bit stolen goods? What do you think I am?"

"And you really want me to answer that? Have you got a spare hour or two?"

"Buffy!" Joyce interrupted her eldest daughter sharply. "That is quite enough."

"But…"

"Enough." Joyce sat on Spike's other side, looked down at the parcel on her lap, then gave her younger daughter a girlish grin. "Never mind Miss Jealous Pants. Let's rip!"

Wrapping paper flew. Dawn squealed with delight as she unwrapped two CDs. "The Ramones! And the Sex Pistols! Wow!"

"Well, thought it was about time your musical education was attended to." Spike grinned. "Let's face it, you listen to the crap your sis enjoys an' you'll be brain dead within a couple of years…"

Joyce, meanwhile, had opened her gift. "The Passions Yearbook!" She smiled delightedly. "You know, they'd sold out of these everywhere! What a thoughtful gift!"

Buffy slumped into an armchair and watched as Spike, her mom and her sister flipped through the book together, giggling and frowning and sharing scandalised whispers. It was a disconcerting scene. How come both of them were so comfortable around Spike? They talked like he was… a normal person. A really fun and likeable normal person. Which he so wasn't. Normal that was.

Dawn was hanging on his every word, hero-worship shinning in her eyes. And that was something they were going to have to take in hand. This whole crush-on-Spike thing? Wrong on so many levels. She really couldn't understand it – after all she'd never thought of Spike as crush material. Buffy peered at him thoughtfully. She had to admit he wasn't exactly unattractive; if she looked at him completely objectively, naturally. So not her type; she'd never find him attractive with his killer cheekbones, amazingly blue eyes, luscious lower lip, lithe, athletic body, strong, muscular arms, firm, well-honed… she shook herself. Not her type. Uh-uh. But she could possibly see why he might be Dawn's. Maybe.

As none of the three huddled on the sofa chose to take notice of her pointed sighing and coughing and peering at the clock, Buffy sat back and continued her frowning study of Spike. She had to admit, when he wasn't being totally irritating and pointless and all big with the unwanted advice, he could be kind of… fun – in a "not–her-type-of-fun way", naturally. And there were times when he said or did something that frankly surprised the hell out of her – and in a good way, too, if she was honest. Which she didn't intend to be.

She watched him talking easily to her mom, all wide-eyed innocence with a boyish smile one minute, full-on Bad Boy charm with the knowing looks and the sexy smirk the next. And the thing he did with his tongue pressed against his teeth, making her mom blush…He was flirting with her mom! Buffy shook her head. And if she didn't know better she'd swear her mom was flirting back. This was getting out of hand. She leaned forward to interrupt them and then he smiled - a genuine, open smile that softened his features and gave hints of the man he might have been. He laughed at something Joyce whispered into his ear and Buffy frowned. Or maybe the man he really was…

He looked up to find her watching him. The smile faded in the face of her frown and his eyes hardened. "Think I'd best be off." He disentangled himself from Dawn's arm and stood up. "Be light soon."

"Oh, well… if you're sure. You could stay for lunch," Joyce blushed. "Oh! Or maybe… I mean… I don't know if you…"

"Thanks, but got to go." He gave Buffy a sharp look. "Don't want to outstay my welcome."

"Oh, please stay!" Dawn turned on the wheedling again. "Please? Buffy's cooking. She can use all the help she can get…"

"You heard him." Buffy firmly herded Spike towards the door. "He really has to go. Really."

"Big sis is right, Nibblet," he sighed. He turned to Joyce. "Thanks… for the eggnog an' all. It's been real nice. Can't remember the last time... family Christmas an' all..." an unhealthy dose of lost-boy wistfulness crept into his voice.

"Oh, please!" Buffy rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the room. Behind her a muttered comment from Dawn was met by an admonitory "Dawn! That's no way to talk about your sister!" from her mum that was heavy with an unspoken "…even if she is…"

At the door Buffy turned to Spike with a growl. "Well, that was fun! Thank you so much for ruining my Christmas!"

"Ruining? Well, Dawn an' your mum didn't seem to mind."

"Right, and we all know what a good judge of character Dawn is. And I saw you flirting with my mom!"

"I was not!" Spike was outraged.

"You were, too! You don't even know you're doing it! All with the big blue eyes, and the smirk and the… the tongue thing!"

Spike looked momentarily taken aback at the tirade, then he rallied and gave Buffy the very smirk she'd just mentioned. "Jealous, slayer?" he growled.

"Jeal…? No way am I… As if!" Buffy stammered, flushing hotly. "And… and where do you get off giving my mom flowers?" She glared up at him. "And Christmas presents? And for Dawn? I'm really glad you didn't get me one, because…"

"I did." Spike interrupted her.

"What?"

"Brought you a bloody present!"

"Oh." Buffy ground to a halt at the clear hurt in his voice, words abandoning her along with her anger.

"Yeah. Well. Just thought that maybe… Ah, forget it." Spike turned away. "If you don't want it…"

Buffy put a tentative hand on his arm. "I… I'm sorry. Spike – really; I'm sorry." And, it occurred to her, she really was. Tonight, for some strange reason, hurting Spike's feelings… hurt.

He turned slowly and looked at her suspiciously. "You're just sayin' that 'cause you want the present."

"No, that's not why. It was a… nice thing to do, and I had no right laying into you."

"Is that an apology?"

"Yeah." She smiled softly.

The suspicious frown deepened. "Can I have it in writin'?"

"Don't push it."

"Oh. Right." He reached into his duster pocket and held out a small gold box. "So… do you… I mean…" He held it out to her uncertainly.

She took the box with a smile. "Hee! Got me the present!" She gave him a wicked grin. "Can't believe you fell for that one!" The grin softened. "Really – thanks." She opened the box while Spike watched her nervously. Inside was a necklace; a small flower, each petal delicately carved from a semi-translucent dark-pink material she didn't recognize, hung from a fine gold chain. "Oh! How pretty…" She held the necklace by its chain and the flower glowed softly in the lamplight.

"'S coral. It's supposed to be a talisman against enchantments, witchcraft and the like. Oh, an' the devil."

"Does it work against vampires?"

"Seems not." He smiled then shrugged." 'course it's total Victorian bollocks, but…"

"Worth a try?"

"Well, figured you might need all the help you can get."

She gave a soft laugh. "Yeah." She looked up at him with a smile, felt the breath catch in her throat at the look in his eyes. "S-sounds about right," she managed eventually.

"It's… erm… a chrysanthemum. Or somethin'." He hesitated. "Buffy…"

"It's lovely," she interrupted him quickly, suddenly afraid of what he might be about to say. "Really."

He shrugged. "It's nothin'."

"No, it's not 'nothing'. Thank you, Spike." Before reason could take over, she reached up to brush his cheek with her lips, resisting a sudden urge to let them linger against his cool skin, to move to the softness of his lips. Pulling away from him felt strangely difficult. She stepped back, suddenly flustered.

"Glad you… you know… like it." He gave her gentle smile that touched the blue depths of his eyes with warmth, softened the lines of his face.

"I do. It's… beautiful." She was aware that her fingers were resting on his arm and she dropped her hand quickly, alarmed at a sudden rush of heat.

He peered out into the street. "S'almost dawn. I'd better…" he gestured outside.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Last thing you want is to be the Christmas roast."

"Happy Christmas, Buffy." He smiled shyly, then turned away and set off in the direction of the cemetery.

She watched him disappear down the road, his movements feline-elegant in the lamplight, his duster flaring behind him as he strode away. "Happy Christmas, Spike," she said softly. He didn't look back.

She leaned against the door jamb, staring sightlessly into the night, absentmindedly stroking the cool coral of the necklace against her cheek. The sound of Dawn's voice calling her name dragged her away from her thoughts. She blinked and frowned at the necklace.

Oh, for heaven's sake!

Last thing she needed right now was this. Last thing she needed ever was this.

New Years resolution. She was swearing off all things male – human, demon, or any combination thereof. Of course, it wasn't going to be easy avoiding a certain combination thereof, given where her line of work took her and the combination thereof's ability to be everywhere she turned. And beside – she wasn't rightly sure she really wanted to avoid him.

Buffy sighed.

She wondered if it was too late to join a nunnery…