Just a little Spuffy Christmas gift from me to you!
Christmas Cards
16th December
"Andrew? Andrew!" Buffy yelled down the stairs, leaping over the banister and running after him. "Andrew!"
"Hello Buffy," he greeted her in his false, aristocratic accent. "How are you this fine day?"
"Have you just been down to the village?" Buffy asked hastily.
"Yes, I collected the non-perishables for the week but I'm afraid the shop was all out of bread so someone will need to go down after their delivery on Tues-"
"There was a letter on my desk," Buffy interrupted, sounding mildly panicked.
"Don't worry, Buffy," Andrew assured her, calmly placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I noticed it while you were in the shower this morning."
"Andrew," the slayer said slowly, her teeth gritted. "What did you do with it?"
"As its Christmas, I took the liberty of posting it for you."
"WHAT!"
24th December – Christmas Eve
"Spike," Harmony called across the foyer.
He ignored her, hoping that she would begin to understand that he didn't fancy her any more. All he wanted to do was to go home and drink solidly for the next two days. Then he could skip Christmas entirely in a drunken stupor.
"Spike," she repeated a little louder.
His head brushed one of the snowflakes that had been hanging from the ceiling since the beginning of the festive season. Frustrated, he ripped it down, scrunching it up in his fist and dropping it to the ground. Consequently, the decorations on either side fell to the floor in his wake.
"Spike!" Harmony screeched again.
"What!" Spike yelled back across the reception.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the vampires until Spike's glare told them to get back to their own bloody business.
With his duster billowing out behind him like his nemesis' coat did, Spike crossed the foyer to Harmony's desk. "If you're going to ask me out for a Christmas drink again, you can bloody well save your breath," he snapped. "Or if you've got some bleedin' mistletoe around," he continued, his eyes searching the desk, "I will tear it to shreds and feed it to a demon."
Harmony smiled. "I wasn't going to try any of that again. I do understand the definition of the word 'no'."
"Oh really?" Spike said, surprised. "So, what do you want?"
"First: Merry Christmas!" she exclaimed brightly, extending her arm and presenting him with a card in s bright red envelope.
"Thanks," he said half-heartedly, taking it from her and stuffing it into his pocket. "I 'aven't got one for you," he admitted, unashamed.
"Don't worry," Harmony beamed. "Second: I need to check if you're coming to the Christmas party tonight?"
Spike almost laughed. "I don't think so."
"Why not? It's going to be so much fun! I've organised balloons and cakes and the best pig's blood in America all the way from Texas and-"
"S'not my sort of thing."
"Okay," the receptionist continued, a little disheartened. "Well, have a good Christmas then."
"You too," Spike murmured, turning to leave.
He only took about two steps before she called him back. "Oh, Spike, wait!" she called, running around the desk to catch him before he left.
"What now?" he muttered. He was slightly closer to the exit yet it was still too far to make a break for it.
"I almost forgot," Harmony explained. "This arrived for you this morning."
In her perfectly manicured hand was a white envelope. At least, Spike thought it was white. It was hard to tell underneath all the postal stamps and scribbles on it. The envelope had been everywhere: France, Italy, Egypt, Russia, Japan, Washington and finally it had reached its destination: California.
To be more specific, it was destined for the offices of Wolfram and Hart to a Mr William Pratt.
"It didn't say who it was from," Harmony told him, the look on her face making it obvious that she was hoping for a piece of juicy gossip. "Do you know?"
"No idea," Spike confessed honestly. "Thanks, Harmony," he said, jamming it in his pocket along with the other card. He would open them later. "Merry Christmas."
With that, Spike walked into the elevator, pressed the button for the car park and hopped in his DeSoto for the lonely drive home.
25th December – Christmas Day
For some reason, all the demon bars in LA were quiet at Christmas. It was strange to think that maybe most of them had family to go to and would be celebrating Christmas just like everyone else: having too much to drink and wearing stupid paper hats on their heads.
There were only five other people sitting in there with him, all sat at solitary tables, nursing their own bottles.
But Spike was fine, all alone.
All he needed was his bottles of brandy, whisky and scotch and he would have a merry Christmas of his own.
Stuffing his hand in his pockets, he groped around for a cigarette to light.
Instead he pulled out the two crumpled envelopes Harmony had given him the day before.
With another gulp from the whisky bottle, Spike tore open the one from Harmony. On the front of the card was a photograph of a fluffy baby penguin, complete with a Santa hat. Rolling his eyes at her predictability, Spike opened the card and read it.
Dear Blondie Bear,
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Love,
Harmony xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
For a reason unknown to Spike – he guessed the alcohol – he grinned and set the card out on his almost empty table.
Then he picked up the other envelope.
He turned it over and over in his hands a few times, trying to guess who it was from. Over the course of his long life, he had met hundreds of people in Europe and Asia, but those who would send him a Christmas card were few and far between.
And most of them were dead.
For a brief moment, he considered the possibility that Drusilla sent it, before reminding himself that she usually didn't know what day of the week it was, let alone that it was Christmas.
To put himself out of his misery and stupidity, Spike carefully pulled up the flap and edged out the card.
The cover was a dark, midnight blue with a white moon in the right hand corner and Santa's sleigh gliding high above the town in the drawing. The town was in a valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains. A river ran through in a random pattern through the tiny houses and was only visible from the light provided by the lampposts.
Stars lit up the sky.
It was beautiful and reminded Spike, for some strange reason, of his childhood, when his mother would take him on a short holiday to the Scottish Highlands at Christmas to visit his grandparents. He used to hate it but at night, the village was so dark and so silent, it was entrancing.
Intrigued, he opened the card.
My dearest William,
He recognised that handwriting.
No…it couldn't be…
The nights here are darker and colder than ever now, so much so that I miss your presence more than ever. That only makes me feel worse, worse because I never told you the truth.
If a kiss could say how much I love you, my lips would never have left yours. But they did, and you wore the amulet, and now I must go on alone.
And I don't know how.
Willow and the others say I will learn, but apparently I am a slow learner, for it never seems to get better.
I have considered many times coming to find you, but as the days pass, I feel I cannot intrude on your new life. We both need to move on. I have a new army to command, and you have to deal with Angel and the idiots at Wolfram and Hart. Besides, saving the world devours most of our time.
The days grow longer and the nights grow longer still without you.
But I need you to know, I do love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. And if you need me to, I will shout it from the rooftops and carve it into every tree. If that's what it takes for you to believe me, I will do it.
I am running out of space now and although I have written the address and added the stamp, I doubt very much that I will post this card. Instead I will place it at the bottom of my wardrobe along with the thousands of other letters I have written but never plucked up the courage to send.
But just this once, as it's Christmas (and at Christmas you tell the truth), all I want for Christmas…is you.
Merry Christmas,
Yours eternally,
Buffy
A tear dripped from Spike's cold, dead cheek and splatted onto the paper, smudging the ink slightly. Hurriedly, he carefully dabbed at it, rubbing his eyes before any more tears could ruin the card.
Once it was dry, he shoved it back into the envelope, smoothing out the creases, and slipped it delicately into his inner pocket, patting it as he did.
After the holidays he would lock it in his safety deposit box.
Until then, he would carry it with him and protect it with all he had, just as if it were Buffy herself.