December 21st

No. Freaking. Way.

"Buuuuuuffffffy!" I roar, and she comes bounding down the stairs. She looks beautiful tonight, but I'm too angry for her to be beautiful.

"Spike, what is it?" She puffs, concerned.

"For the love of god, tell your friends, Harris and his bird, that if they ever do it in my bloody bed again, they're dead. Soul or no soul, Morals or no morals, If I ever smell that boys spunk on MY bed again, he will be dead before he even finishes!"

She raises an eyebrow at me, and then her jaw drops.

"Anya and Xander had sex?" She gasps, and claps her hands together happily. "So they've made up then!"

"It doesn't fucking matter!" I yell. "My bed. Sex. No washing the sheets... bloody inconsiderate if you ask me..."

"Geez Mr Angry man." She scolds. "Can't you be happy? They made up!"

"Like I care! I never cared what happened to Harris."

"Yeah," She says, shuffling her feet. "But you have a soul now."

I roll my eyes. "So that means I care about the love lives of people I really don't care about the love lives of?"

"Oh. Guess not." She points to the washing machine. "Knock yourself out." And climbs the stairs.

I grab the feral smelling quilt and shove it in. As I pick up the dishwashing liquid I hear footsteps on the stairs. I look up to see her.

"Yeah?" I say. She puts her hands awkwardly on the railing.

"My bad." She says. "About the soul thing." Then she blows me a small kiss and bounces out.

Once I'm sure she's gone I do the one thing I'll never admit to later. I reach my hand into the air, close my fist around the invisible kiss and put it in my pocket. Reaching for the washing liquid again I quietly sing to myself.

"Catch a shooting star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away... Your a bleeding wanker, It was just an air kiss, don't save it for a rainy day..."

December 24th.

His cot smells like him. It's been washed thank god, and I can see why he was so pissed. I know I shouldn't be down here, but he's out for the night, and I found a spider in my bed. Okay, it's a feeble excuse, I could've just taken the couch… but hey? Who doesn't like a bed.

Especially one that smells of nicotine and bourbon and patent leather and hair gel, and all the things I connect with that stupid vampire. And no, It doesn't make an entirely pretty picture, the things he smells like. But he's more than what he eats and wears, he's… here. Crap.

Go out, get pissed, walk home, reach Buffy's house, be sober again. Halleluiah vampire healing. Repeat as needed.

The old days I'd stumble back into my crypt, still drunk; closer to the pub. I mean bar. Americans.

These days I'll be completely sober by the time I get to bed. (I push open the door to the house… unlocked as usual.) I don't mind. Coming home to Buffy's house is a blessing in it's own, even if its for no reason other than safety in numbers. I wish it was because she loved me and wanted me to live with her. (I wander through the kitchen…)

But just having her around is good. I feel like she's always there. (I look dejectedly at my basement door.) She's in my life. (I turn the handle.) She's in my heart. (I walk through the door.) She's in my bloody soul! (I walk down the stairs.) She's in my… Bed?

"Um, slayer?" He asks me, sitting at the end of the cot. On the springless mattress he feels like a dead weight. Hehe, dead weight… get it? "Why are you in my, for lack of a better word, bed?" He's smirking in that old, insolent way. I grin sheepishly, and shift around a little.

"There was a spider in my bed… and I figured you'd be out most of the night…" I try and explain. Not convincingly. Why would it be? It was a feeble excuse from the get go.

He raises an eyebrow. "Couch? Cup and cardboard? You're the slayer, and your scared of one spider?"

"I wasn't scared!" I deny, losing my argument a little more. "And I put it outside, but who's to say there weren't more, waiting in the blankets…" He chuckles and does that thing with his tongue. "…waiting in the blankets, ready to crawl out all over my skin and…" I ramble, struggling for a not stupid reason to be scared of spiders. He gazes at me expectantly. "Ravage me?" I finish.

He laughs. "The spiders are going to crawl out of the blankets, over your skin, and ravage you?" He summarizes sarcastically.

"Kay, maybe ravage isn't the right word…" I reply, rolling my eyes. Gain the upper hand NOW bastard!

"Oh, I think its exactly the right word." He says, standing up. I'm not sure where to go with this, or exactly what he means, but I think he might be implying something about our 'relationship'.

"Spiders are very sensual creatures." He continues. Okay, getting weird now. "They lurk in the darkness, only to crawl out and take what they need. And if people get hurt in the process that's their problem. Coz these little arachnids got one thing on their mind. Staying alive. Keeping themselves, their species, their future, alive. And life, why, life is about everything really."

I'm not sure where I was going on the spider-speech. I think when I said that thing about ravage being the right word I just had to make up for it. She looked downright scared then.

I think I ended up with spiders being a metaphor for vampires. As far as bugs go, mosquitoes are better for that… Course, why would someone be comparing bugs to Vampires? Maybe bats… or wolves… She better say something or I'll be thinking about this all night.

"That wasn't very sensual Spike." She states. I scratch my Adams apple thoughtfully.

"Nah, I got off topic." I reply. "Come to think of, was there ever a topic?"

She nods. "Me being in your bed. Walk quickly tonight?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why?" I ask, confused. She smirks mischievously.

"Your still a bit drunk."

I discard it with a wave of my hand. "Not for long luv." I sigh, and sit down again. "Subject o' beds. You can stay here if you want. I'll commandeer your comfy bed. Spiders don't scare me. Or you can go upstairs and get over your stupid fear yourself. " I smirk, ready to undermine… undermining in action… "I'll tuck you in if you need it, pet." Undermining deployed.

"Would you?" I ask, pouting. I know he's just trying to undermine my strength and feminine… strength, but I haven't been tucked into bed since mum died. Spike is substitute mum. Now that's just sad. He stares blankly for a minute then chuckles and grins.

"Alrighty!" He laughs, and picks me up like a little girl, carrying me upstairs. "Now, I 'avnt don't this for a fair few years love, but I'll do my best. As we pass through the kitchen he begins to sing in a soft deep lullaby voice. I laugh at the absurdity of it. "Catch a shooting star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day…" He pauses to push my door open, placing me carefully on the bed, and pulling the sheets up, he drops to his knees next to me and continues. "Catch a shooting star," This time he mimes catching something out of the air, a shooting star would be my best guess. I grin dotingly up at him. So sweet. "And put it in your pocket…" He pushes his hand into his pocket in an exaggerated gesture. "Never let it fade away." He finishes and ruffles my hair. "'night slayer." He says, and quickly kisses my forehead. He walks to the door and pulls it nearly closed. Switching off the light he shuts it. "Sleep tight!" I hear him call.

"Spike wait!" I hiss, calling him back. He pushes the door open. "Never fade away." He smiles a huge genuine smile, and quickly glances at my neon clock. 12:02.

"One more thing…" He says. "Merry Christmas."