Summary:  Buffy prepares for her first Christmas away from Sunnydale.  Set post-Chosen.

Pairing:  Buffy/Spike.

Spoilers:  Vague references to AtS S5, through Destiny.

Notes:  I love reading holiday schmoop.  So this year I figured that I might as well try my hand at writing some.  Much thanks to sallyanne for the lovely beta.

Feedback:  Yes, please.

*****

One Winter Eve

Hark! How the bells, sweet silver bells
All seem to say, "Throw cares away"

Buffy smiled as she hurried past the carolers in Trafalgar Square. Their voices resounded through the cold night, she could actually smell roasted chestnuts, and the air was heavy with the promise on snow. Her arms were laden with shopping bags containing last minute gifts, which she would soon wrap and place under the tree.

It was everything Christmas should be.

Almost.

As she headed into the tube station, Buffy couldn't help but feel a slight pang of longing for the unconventional Christmases of Sunnydale. Growing up, she had always thought that it would be perfect to spend Christmas some place where it actually seemed festive and seasonal, the way it was "supposed" to be. Yet, as with everything else in her life, the unusual had turned into the ordinary. And now that her life was beginning to verge on a relative "normal" for the first time in...forever, she felt like some type of inverted Alice in Wonderland.

She missed them, especially during the holiday season. Last year, they'd been too busy patching up windows and preparing to face the Chaka Khan vamp to decorate, and the year before, nobody had been in a very festive mood. But Buffy remembered Christmas dinner three years ago. Tara's face as she basked in Willow's adoration, Anya's anecdotes about Christmas celebrations way back when, and her mother's smile as she happily played host.

And though she didn't remember it specifically, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine him lurking outside, standing by his tree, taking long drags on his cigarette, and watching the cheerful tableau inside. Granted, if she had actually seen him doing that during one of their holiday meals, she would have stomped outside and chased him away, but it was still nice to picture.

Buffy smiled wistfully at the memories. No matter how appropriate her current setting, those memories were Christmas.

The tube came to stop at King's Cross, and she got off, hurrying through the streets towards the Bloomsbury flat – and damn, she couldn't believe that she was calling it a flat already – that she shared with Dawn and Faith. Giles had a flat nearby, as did Xander, Andrew, and Willow. Some of the other Slayers were scattered throughout London and were also helping with the new Council, while others had returned to their hometowns in the States. They were slowly but surely rebuilding the Council, and things were actually going well, though she kept waiting for some horrible apocalypse to pop up.

She turned the keys and entered the empty flat. The others were out at a holiday party that Buffy had begged-off from. She had told them that she needed time to do last minute shopping, wrapping, and general preparations for dinner the next evening. It was the truth, but she also wanted to have some solitary Buffy-time, a commodity that was almost as rare as a good J-Lo movie.

She sat down on the sofa and took out her purchases. For Dawn, she'd saved up for a pair of Burberry earmuffs and a matching scarf, which she'd seen her sister eyeing longingly during a shopping trip in Knightsbridge a few weeks ago. For Willow, a cute sweater from Harrods that was bright, fluffy, and warm, and had instantly reminded Buffy of her friend during their high school years. She'd gotten Faith a small, glittery black purse that would be perfect for clubbing, her fellow Slayer's favorite activity. A shiny new tool kit for Xander, the Star Wars DVD box set for Andrew, if only to get him to stop whining about the tragic loss of his wonderful collection, and some pricey novelty tea and a new glasses case for Giles.

She arranged the gifts carefully under the tree, making sure that the wrapping paper was just right and that all of the price tags had been removed. Then she headed back to the sofa and reached in the bag for the last gift.

She'd never bought a gift for him before, and she hadn't intended to this year. But this evening, when Buffy had been wandering through Harrods, it had caught her eye. At first she had felt weird buying a gift for someone who was dead, or more dead than usual, to be precise. But somehow, it had seemed like the right thing to do.

The cigarette case was bright silver, so shiny that she could almost see her reflection. The edges were lined with gold lighting bolts, impossibly bright against the already glistening silver. The inside was all gold, and when she'd opened it in the store, the colors had reflected so intensely in the overhead lights that she almost had to look away.

She took out a small card, wrote an inscription, and placed it inside the case. Then Buffy wrapped the case and placed it underneath the trees with the other gifts.

She lay down of the couch and stared at the tree. They'd gone for simple yet classy decorations – blue and white balls, a gold star at the top, and a few miniature menorahs hanging haphazardly from the branches. Because not everybody worshipped Santa, as Willow had been reminding them for the past six years.

A feeling of intense calm settled over Buffy as she basked in the glow of the tree. A year ago, she never could have begun to picture her life now. She still missed her old world and could never help but wonder, "what-if," but she was beginning to feel happy here.

She smiled and closed her eyes, deciding that a little power nap would be ideal before starting on some of the cooking for the next day. Just as she was cuddling into the cushions, the doorbell rang.

Buffy placed a pillow over her head, hoping that the carolers outside would get a clue and leave. Normally, they were pretty entertaining, but right now, she wasn't in the mood.

The bell rang again.

"Alright, I'm coming," she called, as she made her way to the door. She stood on her tiptoes to gaze through the peephole.

Buffy blinked and rubbed here eyes. Cautiously, she opened the door.

The shock in her eyes was mirrored by the amazement in his, as if he hadn't really expected her to be there.

Spike recovered first. "Merry Christmas, pet." He smiled, almost shyly.

"You're...why...you can't really be here," she stuttered lamely. "You're not real."

He held out his hand. "Real as ever."

She tentatively reached her hand towards his, letting her fingers run over his cold skin in wonder. He grasped her hand, and her eyes widened, filling with tears.

"How? When?" Her mind was racing with questions that she seemed physically incapable of articulating. She stared down at their intertwined hands in amazement.

"Bit of a long story. Mind if I come in?"

She managed to organize her thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence. "Of course. Come in." She held the door open, and he grinned as he stepped across the threshold, surveying the apartment.

"Pretty posh digs you have here."

"Yeah, well, that's what Council money will buy. It's definitely a nice perk."

Spike sat down on the couch. "So I've heard."

Buffy sat down next to him. "You've heard?"

He chuckled lightly. "Yeah, just a bit. How 'bout I just give you the short version for now?"

"As long as the more detailed, Spielberg-sized version comes later."

"Will do. So the short version. Turned up in L.A. a few months ago, in the tosser's demented law firm. Something to do with the amulet."

"The amulet?" Comprehension spread across her face. "Oh god, Spike, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have...."

"No worries, love. Saved the world and brought me back after all, didn't it? Anyway, came back all ghost-like, until one day, bam, I wasn't."

"Ghost-like? Like Patrick Swayze ghost-like? I think I'm missing something here."

"You're really not; it's just as confusing and ridiculous as it sounds. The wannabe Scoobies over there have their knickers all in a twist over this situation and a prophecy that was supposed to concern Angel, but now pertains to the two of us. Wesley and the others have been busy trying to figure out what it all means."

"This is the short version?"

He sighed. "Sadly, yes. Anyway, they wanted to keep me over there, but everyone was pretty busy with the holidays, and I somehow convinced the lot that a trip across the pond was in order."

"Angel actually gave you my address?"

"Yeah. Think it must be a sign of the apocalypse."

She sat in silence, still trying to wrap her brain around everything that she'd just heard. She closed her eyes, wondering if it was possible that this was all a dream. When she opened them again, he was still there.

"So you're here," she stated unnecessarily.

"Looks like."

"I'm sorry, it's just...all of this is making my brain kinda swirly right now. It's a lot to process. Two minutes ago, I still thought that you were dust at the bottom of the crater that was Sunnydale." She paused, looking up to meet his eyes. "I...I really missed you, Spike." She looked down again, her eyes brimming with tears and her voice breaking.

He took her face in his hand and lifted it. A tear fell down her cheek, and gently stroked it away with his thumb. "I know. I missed you too. Always." He continued to stroke her cheek as he drew closer to her, leaning down and brushing his lips gently against hers, almost cautiously, as if asking permission.

Her lips parted gently in encouragement, and then they were kissing. Her hands reached out to skate across his skin, trying to memorize it, take it all in, convince herself that he was really there. He continued to caress her, and Buffy relaxed into his touch, letting out a contented sigh.

He was real. This was happening.

They broke apart, and she wondered if her eyes were as bright and shiny as his. She smiled giddily.

He turned to reach inside his duster, which was strewn across the arm of the sofa. "Got you a little something, not much, but it's all I had time for on the way over." He handed her a large box with a blue ribbon.

She opened paper delicately and smiled. "Chocolates are always a good thing. Thank you."

"Yeah, well, been meaning to give you a proper box of those for about three years now." He shrugged. "Seemed appropriate."

"I have a present for you." She stood up and walked to the Christmas tree, reaching for the silver box.

The surprise was written across his face and she handed him the box. "For me? But...."

"I saw it and it reminded me of you. It was just…appropriate," she said, echoing his words.

Spike nodded and began to move the paper reverently. He pulled out the cigarette case and ran his fingers over the smooth silver. "It's beautiful, pet." He flicked open the clasp, and the small card fell onto his lap.

He skimmed over her inscription, his blue eyes widening. She waited nervously.

Spike looked up, taking his hand in hers. "I know you meant it, Buffy."

"But you...."

"Had to say it. Couldn't let it end like that. Bit too tragic for my tastes."

She pulled her hand away and punched him playfully. "Hey! What about me? Big jerk." She tried to pout but started to giggle instead.

"Yeah, well, sorry 'bout that. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Right. That should've been your tip-off, Spike."

"Oh, that's how you're going to play it? I'll let you know that I've had plenty of good ideas. World saving ideas, and all that!"

Buffy stopped giggling and her voice softened. "Finding me again."

He stroked her hair. "Best idea ever."

"I love you, Spike."

"I love you too, Buffy."

She leaned her head in and rested it on his shoulder. "I just want to stay like this forever. Warm and cozy, with the pretty tree and you." She yawned and her eyes fluttered. "Just wanna stay right here." Her eyes drifted shut.

He watched her as she dozed off, a serene smile gracing her face, and her blonde hair glowing under the light of the tree. He kissed the top her head gently.

"Merry Christmas, Buffy."

Fin