Title: Mythical Creatures

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 7: Superheroes With Brandy

Note:

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of you! Knowing the story is being enjoyed is like eggnog for my muse, with brandy, of course!

Thanks to PaganBaby and Holi117 for their beta assistance, though I've fiddled so much it's hardly the same chapter they originally looked at, so, of course, all errors are mine. LMK if you spot one and I'll fix it!

After their talk in the lights of the Christmas tree a couple of nights ago, Buffy hadn't exactly avoided Spike, but she hadn't sought him out, either. She told herself it was because she was too busy getting the house cleaned up so it would be spic-and-span for her mom to come home to, and then there was the actual process of getting Joyce home from the hospital and making sure she took it easy.

In truth, Spike had left Buffy's mind scrambled and her heart squirming like a bug under a magnifying glass. He'd left that night without shoving the dagger in, even though he must've known how easy it would've been to do. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, after all. When he'd caught her trailing along behind Parker like a kicked puppy, Spike had inexplicably, and yet predictably, figured it all out, seemingly in the blink of an eye and went for the emotional kill...

'Did he play the sensitive lad and get you to seduce him? That's a good trick if the girl's thick enough to buy it. I wonder what went wrong. Were you too strong? Did you bruise the boy? Whatever. I guess you're not worth a second go. Come to think of it seems like someone told me that. Who was it? Oh, yeah. Angel.'

But not this time. It left her confused and vulnerable, and just not sure what to do. When Spike attacked, she knew exactly what to do, but when he was nice, understanding, even compassionate, what the hell was she supposed to do with that?

But now she had no choice but to go see the annoyingly perceptive, and utterly confusing, vampire. Buffy shifted the festively wrapped gift to her left hand and knocked on Spike's crypt door. She wasn't in the habit of knocking – usually she just kicked the thing open and stormed in. But this time she was on a 'mom-mission', not a 'Slayer-mission', so, she knocked.

After Joyce had come home from the hospital and gotten settled, she'd asked Buffy to let Spike know so he didn't go up there looking for her. Bringing a gift had been her mom's idea – in thanks for Spike getting the tree – but Buffy had picked it out. Buffy thought she deserved a sainthood, or at least a gift of her own, for helping the exasperating vampire get the stupid redwood into the house, but she didn't want to tell her mom what a hassle it had been. Joyce needed rest and relaxation now, and bitching about Spike getting a tree big enough for Rockefeller Center wouldn't help.

"Told ya before," came the familiar voice from inside the crypt. "If your Girl Scout cookies aren't made of actual Girl Scouts, then bugger off!"

"Spike, it's me!" Buffy called through the door. She started to push it open, but was stopped short when the vampire suddenly appeared, blocking her path. "Hey!" she exclaimed in surprise, jumping back as he shimmied through the narrow opening and pulled the door closed behind himself.

"Slayer! Bit busy at the mo'. Whaddya need?" he asked breathlessly.

"I came to tell you—" Buffy began to answer automatically before her 'WTF?' radar kicked in. "Busy doing what?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You know… stuff… chipped vampire stuff… all very… boring," Spike stammered, shifting from foot to foot as his eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at her. "Nice chat – see ya, then," he added quickly, turning to go back into the crypt.

Buffy, of course, was having none of that. She knew exactly how to handle this type of behavior from the bleached wonder. When he turned, she shoved him hard in the back. Spike's nose banged on the heavy door and he cursed in pain before it gave way and opened.

"Oi! Didn't invite you in!" he complained, one hand clamped to his nose, the other trying to grab the edge of the door to keep it from swinging fully open.

"Think you're confused. You vampire. Me Slayer. No invite needed," Buffy pointed out, pushing him in the back again and sending him stumbling forward.

Spike caught himself on his comfy chair and spun around, holding one hand up in surrender, the other still clamped over his bruised nose. He felt a stab of disappointment in his gut that eclipsed the pain in his nose. Apparently, all the walls she'd let down the other night were firmly back in place, and covered in razor-wire. The Slayer was back in all her glory. Not that Spike didn't appreciate the glory of this golden Slayer, but he'd half-hoped things might've changed between them after their talk about Angel and Riley and effulgence. She'd given him more than crumbs under the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree, treating him like a friend, or at least not an enemy, actually listening to him instead of running roughshod over his every word. Whatever camaraderie they'd shared seemed to have been burned away by the dawn, like mist from the still surface of a mountain lake.

"Don't be gettin all stake-happy – I can explain," Spike asserted as Buffy followed him into the spacious (for a crypt) room.

The Slayer's brows furrowed as she glanced around. It looked like one of those gift-wrapping booths at the mall had been torn apart by a particularly hostile, Christmas-adverse troll. Maybe Santa left coal in its stockings instead of nice, plump babies. There was Christmas-themed wrapping paper strewn everywhere – big pieces, small pieces, crumpled pieces, mangled pieces, and flat pieces. Atop all that were ribbons in a rainbow of colors and styles. Some rolls of gift wrap, which had somehow survived the carnage, were atop the stone sarcophagus, along with a Scotch tape dispenser, scissors, and a stack of empty, generic gift boxes. Piled in the large alcove in the wall were wrapped gifts, though they looked like they'd been wrapped by a particularly dim five-year-old baboon. Scattered around within the sea of discarded wrapping paper were a plethora of shopping bags Buffy recognized as being from the mall or the shops downtown.

"What… why… what…?" Buffy stuttered, shaking her head to organize her jumbled thoughts. "What the hell is going on here?" she demanded finally, her hard gaze settling back on the vampire.

"It's not what it looks like," Spike assured her, lifting both hands as if she were holding a gun on him.

"It looks like you're playing Santa to Dawn," Buffy retorted, raising her brows in question. She could see bags from at least four shops that Dawn frequented and had on her Christmas list.

"Oh, well… yeah, I reckon it is what it looks like, then," Spike agreed with a sigh. He checked his nose for blood, but didn't find any, and since Buffy didn't seem about to shoot him, he lowered his hands. "Not just the bit, you too, as it turns out."

"Me? What…? You stole all this for—"

"Didn't steal!" Spike corrected immediately, moving over to pick up an envelope and pulling out all the receipts to show her. Something else fell out with the till receipts, fluttering to the floor at Spike's feet. Buffy recognized it as the item Spike had tucked into his pocket at the hospital when she'd walked in on him talking with her mom a few days ago.

Buffy dove on it, scooping it up as Spike lurched back with a yip, thinking he'd misread her, and she was attacking. Buffy moved over closer to a bank of candles to examine her prize. She set Spike's gift down with the other wrapped boxes and opened the folded piece of paper. Her mother's credit card dropped out of it. She whirled on him. "You bastard! You stole my mom's—!"

"Didn't sodding steal it! Take off your bloody Slayer-hat and listen for once!" Spike demanded, as he began pacing back and forth, kicking the cheerful detritus from his path, and running a hand back through his hair. He'd buggered it up again! Well, no sense lying about it. Couldn't stuff the prize back in the cracker after it'd been popped.

"Yer mum asked me t' help her with the shopping for you lot. Knew she couldn't get it done, what with the hole in her skull and all. Wanted to make a nice Christmas for you and the bit. Wanted it to be a surprise."

Buffy looked up at him skeptically. "And what are you getting out of it? What else did you use this credit card for? Blood? Cigarettes? Beer? The Hope Diamond?" she challenged.

Spike flung his arms out, bringing his frenetic pacing to a halt as he faced her. "Nothing! Why don't you get it?! Know I'm speaking the Queen's sodding English, but even you should be able to suss it out. Was just trying t' help yer mum out. Make a nice Christmas for you ungrateful lot!"

"Why?"

Spike rolled not just his eyes but his entire face to the ceiling, gritting his teeth. "Because we're friends – your mum and me," he insisted through his clenched jaw. He looked back at her. "Why is that so bloody hard for you to understand? If you'd take off those Slayer-colored glasses for one bloody minute..."

Buffy scowled at him. Spike was acting so weird. She ran back over their recent conversations, the ones that left her so befuddled. He knew all her failures, seemed to be able to see right through her defenses, and yet, the other night he'd blamed her failed relationships, not on her not-enoughness, but on the men in her life. He'd even defended her – told her flat-out Riley and Angel leaving was due to their shortcomings, not hers. He'd said she was glorious… and glowy and… dark.

She'd thought about that a long time after he'd left and over the last couple of days while she vacuumed up popcorn and dusted and mopped – like, a lot! As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She tried to be bright and shiny all the time, but there were times when she was dark and deadly, and she liked it. She even needed it. Riley just wanted her bright and shiny. Angel just wanted her dark and deadly. Would anyone ever want both sides of her? Could anyone handle the whole package that was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer?

Buffy sighed, just as confused as ever, and brought her attention back to the matter at hand. "How did you even know what to get?" she wondered.

"Look at the bloody note – it's a shopping list, yeah?" he pleaded, waving a hand at the paper she'd started to unfold.

Buffy looked down at the paper, unfolding it the rest of the way. He was right. It was a shopping list in her mom's writing with the names of stores and descriptions of what she wanted from each, including sizes and colors, and if it was for Buffy or Dawn.

The Slayer looked back up at the vampire who was standing with his hands on his hips, clearly waiting for an apology. "You went Christmas shopping?"

"Yeah."

"At the mall?"

"Yeah."

"You went into Bath and Body Works?"

"Yeah. Had to stop breathin' in there… bloody place stinks like a Seplasium demon."

"And to Macy's and Anthropologie and 5-7-9? You picked out clothes for me and Dawn from these descriptions?" she continued incredulously, waving the paper around.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Wasn't sure on some which one she meant – like the blue jumper at Forever 21 – had to use my judgment, didn't I?"

"That's possibly the scariest thing you've ever said to me," Buffy mocked, rolling her eyes.

"Ha bloody ha," Spike groused. "Reckon you'll eat those words, Slayer. Got a brilliant sense o' style, I do."

"I can tell by the whole 'stuck in the eighties' look," Buffy retorted, as she started looking through the remaining shopping bags that littered the area.

"Oi! No peeking! Supposed t' be a surprise, innit?" Spike insisted as he began gathering up the bags himself, keeping her from nosing through them.

"I hate to tell you this, but that bridge has sailed and sunk. It's now a reef off Catalina," Buffy noted, looking around at the bright, cheery disaster area. "Also, no Santa's elf would be caught dead delivering packages that look like that," she pointed out, waving a hand at the wrapped gifts.

"What's wrong with 'em?" Spike pouted, moving over closer to the pile of presents.

"What's not wrong with them?" Buffy replied, picking one up. "Have you ever actually seen a wrapped gift before?"

Spike frowned. "Seen 'em… in shop windows and on the telly…" he admitted sheepishly.

"And do these have any resemblance to those? Did those have all these wrinkles in the paper? Or these gaps where the box shows through? Or ripped ends showing? Or a pound of Scotch tape trying to hold it all together?"

It was Spike's turn to scowl. "Bloody picky, you are."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying, if we want Dawn to buy that Mom did this, then they can't look like Bozo the Clown wrapped them while riding a roller coaster in a hurricane."

"Oi!" Spike bristled, taking offense, but then one little word registered with him. "We?" he questioned, arching a brow at her.

Buffy sighed and hastily stripped out of her coat, tossing it over his chair. She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up, grabbed a stack of the wrapped gifts and took them back over to the sarcophagus he'd been using as a worktable. "C'mon, Gift Wrapping 101 class is now in session."

Spike grinned, picked up the other stack of presents, and followed her. "Tie me up in ribbons and bows. Teach me all your darkest secrets, professor. Ready and willing to subject myself to your tender ... or not so tender, mercies." He wagged his brows at her salaciously, his blue eyes dancing with unrestrained innuendo as he slid his gaze down her figure.

Buffy felt her face burn and a flush roll down her body, prickling her skin with gooseflesh and perspiration all at once. A vision of Spike in nothing but a ribbon under the massive Christmas tree flashed in her mind and her traitorous body tingled with yearning. She could only imagine what his muscled body would look like, but she had a good starting point for her imagination to run away with. She had, after all, felt up most of it during their short-lived, magically-induced 'engagement'.

Buffy cleared her throat uncomfortably, shaking off the vision. "Only you could turn the innocent wrapping of Christmas gifts into a skin flick with an overused plot," she asserted, though parts of that plot kept flashing through her mind. Buffy with a paddle. Spike had been a very naughty boy. Drop your pants and bend over. Take your punishment like a man. Maybe on your hands and knees, submissive-Spike. 'Gah!'

"Seen lots o' skin flicks, have you?" he purred, his eyes still glittering mischievously.

Buffy jumped, her eyes widening comically. "No, no... none. Just... you know, heard about them... in, um, Health class."

Spike snorted, chuckling. "Well, might have to rectify that oversight in your education."

"Don't even go there," Buffy warned, regaining her composure. "Now, I'm going to unwrap these," she continued, getting back to business, doing her best to ignore his lascivious smirk and smoldering eyes as she set her pile of gifts down.

How could someone who was, at best, room temperature have such a searing gaze? Buffy's temperature had risen to fevered levels since she'd come into the crypt, fueled by the fire that had erupted low in her belly. Sweat prickled her skin and she suddenly wished she could shed her sweater like she had her coat. But that would leave her in a camisole and that was most assuredly not happening. There would be no unwrapping of anything except poorly-wrapped presents ... Christmas presents! No naked, bow-wrapped Spike under the tree begging to be unwrapped and played with... or on his knees in front of her, or anywhere!

"No fair cheatin' and looking inside the boxes," Spike insisted, following her lead, and setting his stack of gifts down too.

"What am I, five?" she huffed, wanting desperately to fan her face, but not wanting to give him any extra ammo for piggy comments.

That smoldering blue gaze raked over her shapely curves a second time, almost like a physical caress, undressing her with his eyes, which was only fair since she'd undressed him and tied him up with a bow.

"Definitely not," Spike asserted in a suggestive rumble.

Buffy cleared her throat again and tugged at the collar of her sweater, trying to let some cool air hit her overheated skin. She needed a drink. "You," she continued in as business-like tone as possible, as if he hadn't spoken, "Are going to pour the brandy."

"Don't have any brandy."

"Yes, you do. I brought you some in that beautifully wrapped package over there. Merry Christmas."

Spike grinned devilishly. This night was looking up. Maybe those walls of hers would come tumbling back down again with a little help from Rémy Martin. "Superheroes with brandy… bloody brilliant!"

NOTE:

The 'cracker' Spike references is a Christmas cracker. They are festive table decorations that make a snapping sound when pulled open, and often contain a small gift and a joke. They are part of Christmas celebrations in the United Kingdom and other Commonwealth countries.

Spike's quip about Girl Scout cookies being made from actual Girl Scouts is from the movie 'Addams Family', which had baby-Harmony in it (Mercedes McNab). You can find the scene on Youtube if you search for: Addams Family Girl Scout Cookies