A/N: Yes, I realize that this is a Christmas story, and I'm posting it nowhere near Christmas time.

( •_•) ( •_•)⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)Deal with it.

"Are we gonna do popcorn strings this year?"

"Huh?"

"You know, for the tree. Are we gonna have those popcorn tinsel-y things? I always liked those."

Buffy looked up from the chapter of her sociology textbook, which she had been reading the first paragraph of for the past twenty minutes. "I don't know, Dawn, why don't you ask Mom?"

"She's resting. The doctors told me I shouldn't bother her too much. They said I could make her tired or something."

"Imagine that."

Dawn slumped back in her chair, watching her sister from across the dining room table. She was quiet for all of thirty seconds, while Buffy returned to her reading. Then she said, "It just doesn't feel holiday-ish, you know? With Mom and Ri—"

Buffy looked up again.

"I mean, that new demon chick. Whatever she's called. Just a lot of stuff happening is all I'm saying." Dawn had been about to say the "R" word, which she regretted as soon as she saw the look on Buffy's face.

"There's always a lot of stuff happening," said Buffy mildly. She seemed to hope that would be the end of it, but Dawn went on:

"You know, in school, we were talking about the Christmas spirit? Well, not Christmas spirit, because we can only say 'holiday', but you know, like the spirit of Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and all that stuff, even though that doesn't make sense because Willow told me once that Hanukkah wasn't even that big of a deal until everyone figured that Jewish people had to have a holiday to compete with Christmas, so they—"

"Dawn," said Buffy. "Is this little soliloquy coming to a point any time soon?"

Dawn let out a small sigh. "We were just talking about the holiday spirit, like giving and decorating and all. By the way, there's a canned food drive next week. And, I don't know. We never do any charity stuff like that. I guess I just want to think of something special to do this year. Something nice."

"Could your something special maybe be not bothering me?"

Dawn got up, rolling her eyes. "Fine, I'll leave you alone to be boring."

"Thank you," said Buffy in exaggerated, exasperated tones, while Dawn left the room.

The house was quiet for another two minutes until Dawn called from the kitchen: "Don't we have anything canned?" and Buffy slammed her textbook down with a thud that left a little crack in the wood veneer.

XXX

Dawn was eventually sent to stay at Xander and Anya's. Buffy smiled manically wide dropping her off and said, "Just spreading the holiday cheer!" It felt a little more like Christmas, watching Xander do the Snoopy dance, though the dance seemed to raise a lot of questions for Anya. ("Is it part of the yearly custom, watching animals dance on slippery furniture? Xander, do we need to buy an animal to participate correctly?")

Still, it was distinctly un-cheerful when she got back home. Buffy was holed up in her room, studying for end-of-the-semester exams, and her mom was still in bathrobe mode. Which left things like washing dishes and taking out the trash to Dawn, something she complained loudly about as she made her way out the door with an armful of two-ply garbage.

"…just because you're in school, you think you can just make me do everything. That's child labor, you know, I heard about it from—"but as she was heading out of the door backwards, she ran in to something. Or, as it turned out, someone. She could tell right away who it was, by the smell of smoke and the "Hey, what d'you—" that he let out as she ran in to him.

"Spike?"

He turned around with an expectant look on his face which faded when he saw who it was. "Oh, it's you, niblet."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He shrugged, flicking his cigarette on the ground and stamping it out. "Just in the neighborhood."

"Is our house, like, on the way to your crypt?" said Dawn. When he just looked at her, she said, "It just seems like you're around a lot lately."

"What?"He thought for a moment, and then seemed to decide, "Yeah, now that you mention it, it is on the way. Say, is big sis home?"

"Yeah," said Dawn. "You can tell by the no fun being had."

"Oh, still sore about soldier boy, is she? Just you watch, she'll take it out on me…"

"She hasn't really mentioned it," said Dawn, glancing up at Buffy's window, which was alight but silent as a tomb. "I don't think she wants to talk about it."

Spike let his gaze drift up to her window, too. There were red and green twinkling lights around the panes, lighting up the back lawn.

"Very cheery," he remarked. "I s'pose you and the Scoobies are planning on a big soppy get-together for the holidays?"

"Nah, it's just gonna be Mom and Buffy and me." Shifting her garbage bag from one shoulder to the other, she asked, without thinking, "So, what are you doing for Christmas?"

Spike got a strange look on his face, somewhere between disgust and hurt pride. "My kind isn't much for merry-making, little bit," he said. "The big evil and the big holiday don't mix too well."

"Oh," said Dawn. "So, what, you'll just hang out in your crypt, all by yourself?"

"No," Spike scoffed, quickly. "I'll be, you know, out in the night. Causing terror. Wreaking havoc. Doing things you wouldn't know anything about."

Dawn drew herself up defensively, which was difficult, with the trash bag. "Hey, I'm not like some stupid kid. I'm almost old enough to drive, you know."

"Ooh, big baddies beware."

"Fine," she said, in a huff, as she finally put the garbage bags she'd been holding in the trash and headed back inside. "Enjoy your lame night of lameness."

Spike called to her retreating back, "If the Slayer asks, tell her it wasn't my—" but Dawn was already inside. Realizing he wasn't going to get anywhere tonight, he gave the dead embers of the cigarette butt another stamp and turned a retreating back to the house, muttering something like, "sod it."

XXX

Back in the kitchen, Dawn was greeted by Buffy, a highlighter in her hand and a scowl on her face.

"Who were you talking to out there?" she asked.

"What's it to you?" Dawn asked.

"Was it Spike?" said Buffy. Her lips were pursed in what Dawn thought of as the "I'm-the-big-sister-I'm-smarter-than-you" expression, the one that just drove her up the wall.

"Maybe."

"Ugh, Dawn—" Buffy was clearly at the beginning of what could be a long tirade, but her sister cut her off before she could get far.

"What's the big deal?"

"One, it's Spike. Two, it's loud and right outside my window while I'm trying to study. Three, it's Spike."

"Close your window, then. God. Lighten up."

Buffy just made a kind of strangled frustrated noise and headed back upstairs while Dawn made a similar noise as she went to the sink to wash the garbage and cigarette smell off her hands. Things were high-stress around here lately, what with Mom and Riley and whatserface, beating Buffy to a bloody pulp without chipping a nail. And now finals, on top of that. Dawn knew all this, she understood the urge to snap at the people who had to love you anyway. If she was really being honest, she was guilty of that way more often than Buffy. But still, it was hard to be rational about it as she remembered that superior face, and started violently scrubbing the dirty dishes in the sink clean.

Things like this were churning around in her mind as she went through the mechanical motions of washing and fitting plates on to the drying rack. It felt like a long train of thought, but really it only took the time between when she turned the water on and when she was drying her hands that she had come up with a (brilliant, if she did say so herself) way to celebrate the Christmas spirit and annoy the living hell out of her sister in one fell swoop.

XXX

Christmas Eve, Joyce had done away with the bathrobe and was in full Mom mode, which meant that the house smelled like gingerbread, warm-glowing candles covered the tables and mantelpiece, and Buffy, who had finished with finals and stuffed all of her leftover pens and papers to the back of her closet where they would never be seen again, was cracking a smile again, finally.

It made Dawn feel the tiniest bit guilty about what was about to happen. Not guilty enough to do anything about it, though.

As far as her mother knew, Dawn's friend was coming over, and she'd been very careful to exclude any names or pronouns. She'd said seven, but she wasn't surprised when there was a knock on the door at seven twenty—fashionably late.

The three of them had been going through boxes of ornaments, with Buffy and Dawn having their usual argument over whether to put a star or an angel on top of the tree. When Buffy went to answer the door, she still had the remnants of a pretend-stern expression on her face, which quickly stopped pretending when she saw who it was.

"What do you want?" she said.

"Hello to you, too," said Spike, with a grimace. "Heard you needed my help with some—"

But Dawn stepped in before he could finish. "Hey, Spike! Wanna come in?"

Buffy turned to her sister. "Dawn, let me handle this, please?"

"I was just being polite."

"Well, stop being. Go help Mom."

Dawn stayed where she was, crossing her arms defiantly. "Hey, Mom?" she yelled to the other room. "It's okay if Spike comes in for a minute, right?"

Joyce's voice answered, "Of course, honey!"

Buffy, listening, didn't bother to hide her sigh of aggravation. "Fine. Spike, come in. Just long enough to tell me why you're here."

Spike, who had been silently watching the Summers women argue with his eyebrows raised, paused for a moment, and then said, "Yeah, alright. Think I will," adding, as he stepped over the threshold, "Such gracious hospitality, how can a fella refuse?"

Dawn, stifling a smile, hurried off to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone. She'd known that Joyce was too good of a host, with too much of a soft spot for Spike, to leave him standing outside. Phase one: complete. Phase two: stand back and watch Spike annoy Buffy until she strangles him with snowflake-patterned ribbon.

A taut silence stretched for a few uncomfortable seconds as she left. Spike was surveying the house, determinedly looking everywhere except at Buffy.

"So, what is it?" Buffy finally said.

Ignoring the question, or intentionally misinterpreting it, Spike heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Look, Slayer, about the thing with He-Who-Will-Apparently-Not-Be-Named. I was only doing right by you, wasn't I? I mean, not that I care. What's right for you. But if I did, I was only doing right. Better you find out now, isn't it, than when you're old and married and watching ads for the WonderBroom on the telly while Captain Cardboard goes out and gets his jollies from two-dollar vamps by the freeway?"

A beat, and then—"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, fine, if you don't want to accept an honest apology—"

"Spike, would you just shut up? I was asking what you were doing here. You said you were going to help with someth—"

But Buffy was cut off again by a voice from the next room.

"Spike, I'm making cider, would you like some?" Joyce called.

With a small, checking glance at Buffy, he answered, "Love some." Lowering his voice again, he remarked, "See? Your mum understands. She's not one to hold grudges."

He shifted past Buffy towards the kitchen, leaving her standing there, confused and more than a little put out.

XXX

Half an hour later, he still hadn't left. Buffy knew because she had been obsessively glancing over at the clock on the wall while the rest of them—Spike, Dawn, and Joyce—were absorbed in It's a Wonderful Life on TV. It had always been a sort of informal family tradition to watch it on Christmas Eve, and she still had warm, fluffy memories of the whole family, including her father, bunched up together on their tiny old couch to watch it. She remembered he used to get a little misty at the end, when he watched George Bailey running through the streets shouting "Merry Christmas!"

Spike, on the other hand—

"I'd want to live in a world without this wanker," he announced, as the credits rolled. "At least there's things to do, and the people aren't so buttoned up."

"Wow, you didn't get the point of it. What a shocker," said Buffy.

"Spike's right," said Dawn, still having to contain an evil smile. "Someone else totally would have saved his brother anyway."

"Shut up, Dawn."

"Okay!" Joyce piped in, having gained an ability to sense oncoming fights after years of this. "I think it's time to decorate the tree, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Buffy. "And that probably wouldn't be interesting to you, Spike, so maybe you…"

"Be happy to help," Spike cut in. "Been decades since I've seen a proper tree."

Dawn was gathering boxes together, pulling out tangled strings of lights. "Mom, do you want the dangly sort of glassy things this year?"

"Oh, no." Turning to Spike, Joyce explained, with a self-conscious laugh, "They were a gift from the in-laws. I'm so glad I don't have to pretend to like them anymore."

Dawn pushed the box aside and came to a gold string of tinsel. "We usually do these first," she said "Since you're the tallest…?"

With only a slight pause of surprise, Spike took the tinsel, saying, "No problem, little bit."

"You girls probably don't remember, but you used to love to decorate the tree. Only you were both only three feet high, so we'd let you do it and come back and the tree would be half-full of ornaments. It was so cute. I might even have pictures around here somewhere…"

"Ix-nay on the baby pictures, Mom," said Dawn.

"I'll second that," said Buffy.

Joyce just waved her hand in an "oh, you" sort of way and let it drop.

Dawn, watching Spike unspool the gold strand around the tree, had a sudden thought, and asked, "What did you used to do for Christmas, Spike?"

From behind the tree, he answered, "Back when I was un-chipped, you mean? Oh, Christmas was a right bloody feast. It was more fun when there were carolers. Like a meal delivery right to your door, and they even kept on praying and singing when I—"

He had reached the front of the tree again, and saw the looks on Dawn, Buffy, and Joyce's faces. "Oh…you meant like, when I was human, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Dawn.

"Well, back then it was just me and mother. I mean, mum. I mean, it was just normal holiday stuff, you know." He finished with the tinsel, tucking the last piece on a low-hanging branch. He glanced over at Buffy, his eyes shifting nervously downwards. "Nothing special," he said.

He sidestepped out of the way as Dawn began bringing ornaments over, picking them one by one out of the box and hanging them up. They weren't the most beautiful, glowing things he'd ever seen. A lot of them homemade, gifts, souvenirs. There was one, a paste of glitter and glue with "Buffy" scrawled on the bumpy surface, and Buffy wrinkled her nose at it. "Mom, do you have to hang that one? It's so ugly," she said.

Joyce put it right in front, saying, "I'm sentimental. So sue me."

Spike watched it twirl for a moment, the uneven patches of glitter catching the light before it settled on a direction to face. He couldn't imagine Buffy making something like that. He couldn't imagine Buffy that young or incapable, period. To him, she had arrived in the world a Slayer, a stake in her hand and a quick retort on her lips. It made no sense to think of her, small and unburdened, making stupid lumpy art and waking up on Christmas morning with her family.

But then again, there was a time when he'd done all those things, too. And look where he was now.

He looked over at Buffy, illuminated by the candlelight, and tried to find some semblance of the little girl who had made that, somewhere in her eyes or her smile or her not-quite-hollowed cheeks. For a second, he thought he had it. But then she turned and he was forced to look down again, cool and disinterested.

Without asking, Dawn handed him another ornament—this one a little angel with a dippy expression on its china face that made the bile rise in his throat—and put him to work hanging it.

By the time they were done, the tree was cluttered with memories. It wasn't pretty. But it felt like home, in a strange way that Spike couldn't really understand. His home had never really been like this. It had always just been him and mum, and his mother had always been meticulous about decorations.

"Okay, last touch." Joyce held up two tree toppers. "Angel or star?"

"Angel. It has to be angel. Buffy got to decide last year!" Dawn started in.

"You always say I got to decide last year. You never actually remember. You picked last year," said Buffy.

With a sigh, Joyce said, "Spike?"

A little uncomfortably, surprised at being asked his opinion when it was more often the case that he gave it when it wasn't wanted, Spike said, "Oh, uh. Star, I s'pose."

Dawn let out an exasperated breath as the star went up, but almost immediately forgot her annoyance as she said, "Present time now?"

Joyce heaved a sigh, a small smile creeping on to her face. "Fine. They're upstairs. Help me bring them down?"

The three of them headed off, talking and arguing, forgetting about Spike, who stood alone in the midst of the holiday cheer. It was awfully warm for a cold-blooded being in there, with the soft-glowing candles and the smell of pine and cinnamon in the air. It was all just too strange, too nice, and he was starting to feel the familiar itch in the tips of his fingers and teeth—like the blood lust, dulled down about a hundred times over—that made him need to step outside for a cigarette.

It was only slightly colder outside. California, after all. But it was, on the plus side, dark and quiet. He wasn't sure why he was here, in his house, on sodding Christmas. Lured here by the promise of seeing her, but what good would it do? He'd try to apologize, try to be nice, try to be something he had no idea how to be. And she would just look at him like she'd look at a spider hiding in the corner, deciding whether it was even worth squashing. He knew how it would go, and still he came, and hoped.

Life had been so much simpler before the promise of Buffy could pull his strings.

He considered leaving. He was already out. It was just a matter of putting more distance between him and the warm inside. He considered, be he didn't move, and the embers of the cigarette were starting to burn. Plus, there was a crinkling package he'd kept in his pocket all evening, wondering if now was a good time, or now, or now, and it never was.

With an aggravated noise that only he and the porch lights heard, he stamped the embers out and went back inside.

Next to the Christmas tree, Dawn was ripping in to a small package with green ribbons while Joyce arranged presents underneath. Buffy was watching, still halfway in the hall, leaned up against the wall. She seemed to not really be paying attention to the flying bits of paper. Lost in thought, instead.

"Needed some air," Spike said as he joined her in the hall.

She came out of her reverie long enough to say "Okay," with the unspoken "who was asking?"

Feeling he had to say something to fill the silence, Spike remarked, watching Dawn, "Isn't this usually a Christmas morning type of business?"

"It was, until Dawn found out about Santa. Mom used to come down once we were asleep and set all the presents out, and leave a little note from Santa, saying that he'd stopped by and that we'd all been good that year, that kind of thing. But when Dawn found out he wasn't real, she demanded that she be allowed to open at least one the night before."

"How'd she find out, then?"

Buffy seemed to come to her senses then, straightening up against the wall, remembering who she had been talking to. Still, she answered, a little uncomfortably, "I told her. She was being a pain."

Dawn had opened her present. It was a necklace, with a pink flower charm on it, and Joyce was putting it on for her while Dawn smiled gleefully.

"She looked so shattered, though. I felt bad about it right away. But she couldn't exactly un-hear what I'd said…" Buffy was talking more to herself than to Spike, but he was still listening intently.

Now was as good a time as any. His hand drifted towards his pocket where a parcel was hiding. He'd never exactly decided to give it to her. But he knew it might be a long time before Buffy would say more to him than "go away." He drew it out—a half-crushed box of chocolates. Buffy looked over at the crinkling sound, a confused and slightly concerned look on her face.

"Uh, look, Slayer. I really am sorry about the thing with the Initiative boy. Riley."

She started a little, surprised to hear his actual name. Especially from Spike. "Would you just drop it?" she said.

"I just wanted to say that. I'm sorry. And, you know, 'tis the season and all." He held out the box of chocolates.

Buffy eyed it suspiciously. "What is this?" she asked.

"A gift," said Spike, starting to get annoyed. "What, it isn't good enough for you?"

The confused expression on her face became more pronounced. "You're giving me a present?"

"Yes, for god's sake, just take it."

She took the crumpled box in her hands. "These wouldn't happen to be the literal kind of death by chocolate, would they? Because that might actually be your lamest plan yet…"

"Bleeding hell. I'm not trying to poison you. What are you on about? I was trying to do something nice."

Buffy paused for a moment, looking down at the box. Some of the chocolates were missing, or a little crushed. She asked, honestly baffled, "Why?"

He couldn't think of an answer either, at least not one that wouldn't end up with bits of him being swept in to the fireplace. "You know what, just forget it. Forget it, Summers," he said.

There was a long and tense pause as Joyce opened her gift in the background—a fuzzy blue sweater. Spike's gaze wandered over to the door, wondering again if he should just cut his losses and leave.

Finally, Buffy said, quietly, "Thank you."

Spike turned to look at her, making sure that it had really been her and not his imagination. Buffy seemed surprised at herself, and her brow furrowed as if already regretting what she'd said.

Equally surprised, Spike mumbled, "Welcome."

More silence, and the muffled sounds of Dawn and Joyce talking as they picked up shreds of paper. The two of them were distracted, bewildered, so much that they didn't notice at first that Dawn was speaking to them.

"Hey, you skulking weirdos. Get in here."

They both obeyed, after a moment or two of processing. Dawn had called Buffy back in to open her gift. It was from Dawn herself, a pair of silver earrings, whish dangled and caught the light.

"I saw you looking at them," said Dawn. "I bought them while you were busy talking to Willow."

"Dawnie, you little sneak." She brought her sister in for a hug that involved more messing up Dawn's hair than hugging. "Thank you, I love them."

The first kind words she'd said that evening, to Spike or her sister.

XXX

The rest of Christmas Eve was peaceful. Strangely so. Out of the four of them, nobody was used to enjoying a pleasant moment that wasn't cut short by some kind of slimy monster. But the evening passed by, talking and laughing about nothing in particular. Buffy still wouldn't look directly at Spike, but that wasn't exactly new. And even Dawn seemed unconcerned that her so-called evil plan wasn't going exactly the way she'd imagined.

It was a little after ten when Joyce glanced at the clock and said, "Oh, gosh, Dawnie. You'd better get to bed or Santa won't stop by."

"Ha-ha. Hilarious," said Dawn, but she still trudged reluctantly up the stairs, as if she were making sure, just in case it turned out not to be a joke.

"I should head out," said Spike. He stood up, feeling stupid again, that he'd stayed so long. "I've uh, got other plans for tonight. Nothing you should concern yourself with, Slayer."

Buffy didn't rise to the bait. She kept quiet as Joyce said, "It was nice having you, Spike. It's a nice change of pace, having a man around the house", though she couldn't resist rolling her eyes a little.

Spike didn't really know what to say to that. He avoided looking at Buffy and shrugged his shoulders, with a small self-conscious laugh that was unlike him. Joyce gave him a warm motherly smile, and cut between him and Buffy towards the kitchen.

"I'm gonna ask one more time. Why did you come here?" Buffy said, crossing her arms. Back to business.

Countless lies spilled and churned around his head, but ultimately he just said, "You know, can't bloody remember. Must not've been all that important."

"Great. Well, thanks for stopping by. Feel free to never do it again sometime." She was herding him towards the door, opening it for him in a way that would have been courteous if she weren't having to actively restrain herself from shattering the doorknob.

"Fine. You know, maybe I won't." He stepped past the threshold, standing just outside the door. "But don't come crying to me the next time you need a super-sitter or magic Initiative tunnel guide, you got that? And then you'll think, gee, maybe I should have been a bit nicer to Spike all those times I threatened to kick his teeth in just because he—"

Spike stopped, because he had looked up at the door frame and seen a flash of something.

"Mistletoe," he said, breathless.

Buffy just stared at him like he had completely lost his mind. "Yeah…so?"

A quick beat, and then he said, "It's tacky is all."

Shaking her head, she said, "Goodbye, Spike," and slammed the door with a satisfyingly loud thud.

Dawn came down the stairs just then, wearing plaid pajamas, a toothbrush in her hand. "Oh, did he leave?"

"Yes, god, let's hear the Hallelujah chorus."

"I think he's fun," said Dawn.

"When I was your age I thought Easy-Bake ovens were fun," said Buffy, as she passed by on her way upstairs. "Maybe you should try one of those instead."

Dawn grumbled, and thought of her retort a little too late. She shouted up the stairs to Buffy's room, "I did try it. Like eight years ago!"

"Hey, honey. I thought you were going to bed," Joyce said, coming around the corner with a dish towel over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I was just going."

"Oh, okay. Hey, I just remembered. Did you still want to do that can drive thing? I know it's a little late, but I got some stuff together if you want to bring it over when school starts again."

"Sounds good, mom." She was starting to get tired, having to stifle a yawn while her mother was talking.

"I think it's great you want to get involved in charity. That's what the season really should be about, shouldn't it?"

"Uh-huh, mom."

Sensing Dawn's interest waning as it so often did, Joyce said, "We can talk about it tomorrow. Good night, sweetie."

"'Night, mom."

Dawn trudged upstairs and flopped on her bed, toothbrush still in her hand. She wasn't sure how to feel right now. She wasn't sure what the point of the whole ruse had been, in the end. It had had one effect she had wanted, anyway: annoying Buffy. But that wasn't so hard to do. The other part, the helping Spike part, she didn't know about. Maybe one night of semi-unwelcome family time wasn't really what he needed. But at least he wouldn't be spending Christmas totally alone. That was something.

Either way, she was too tired to think about it right now. She'd donate cans, think of some other way to do some good. She brushed her teeth, got back in to bed, set her alarm early for tomorrow morning so she could just sit and stare at the presents for a while, as she waited for her mom and Buffy to wake up.

Buffy, on the other side of the wall, was holding the crushed box in her hand. The gift was so strange, so pathetic. She couldn't even will herself to get rid of it. She pushed it to the back of her closet, along with her school papers. Out of sight, out of mind. In theory.

It was best not to think about it. Slamming the door in his face at the end of the night—now that had felt right. In theory.

While the girls were getting ready for bed, thinking through the night, Spike was still walking home. He felt lighter, somehow. Rid of the weight of that present he'd been carrying around. And after looking around for signs of movement, he started humming under his breath, "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."

Just quietly enough so the other demons wouldn't hear.

XXX